


The perks of manual labour

by katiebuttercup



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotland fixes England's washing machine </p><p>France reassess his dislike for manual labour </p><p>And England is gleefully unhelpful</p>
            </blockquote>





	The perks of manual labour

Disclaimer: not mine 

 

"I hope your sister appreciates the time you are devoting..."

France cuts himself off midway through his sentence as his brain catches up with what his eyes are seeing. 

Scotland is bent over a washing machine and France admires the fine expanse of Scotland's shoulders, back and then the tapering of his waist, he's wearing a new t shirt, fitted and France can see smudges of grease across his sides and France guesses he's been using the shirt as a cloth. it's...alluring to say the least. 

Scotland, sensing his presence, straightens, a grin stretches across his face, it shouldn't affect France as much as it does, it's lopsided and a little too big for his face but it warms France in a way that is usually reserved for thigh highs and sharp suits on his lovers. 

But along with the slight burn of arousal is a softer feeling, something that France doesn't really want to look at too long for fear hr may fall too deep. It often times feels like he is standing at the very edge of a cliff and only the slightest breeze will pitch him into oblivion; and Scotland's presence in his life is more like a tornado upturning everything until France is unsure of what is up or down, but he likes it, more than he knows he should. 

Scotland wipes his hands across his stomach, leaving even more marks but it just draws France to his actions, to the strong thick fingers and he wants to bend Scotland over the machine and...

"How's it going?" His thoughts were derailed as the front door banged open and France could feel England behind him, standing on tiptoes to peer over France's shoulder.

In the past that had been a dangerous place, England had stabbed him in the back on the battlefield more than once in the past, but now, only a shadow of France's mistrust survives.

"It'll take a little while longer, it's on its last legs," Scotland tells her, "I don't know why you won't get a new one. I can find one for you this weekend. I know a bloke"

"It still has life in it, it just needs a little care," England says defensively, "I've had him for years," 

Scotland rolls his eyes, even if it were a machine England respected loyalty and she wouldn't give up on anything if there was still a promise of life. 

"But if you think you can't fix it I'll find someone..."

England says, her tone taking in a challenging edge that France knows Scotland can't back down from.

"It'll be fixed," Scotland interrupts, and France marvels at the siblings, ancient, respected nations arguing like pre schoolers. 

And then the argument is over as quickly as it began, "wanna cuppa?" Scotland asks, turning away and France finds England grinning at him, as if she knew the way his thoughts had been going, yearning for some alone time with Scotland, to explore this new fascination he's found that boils down to Scotland + manual labour = sexiness. 

"I'd love one," England says and France contemplates hitting her, she rolls her eyes in response, "but I can't I only came back to see how you were doing" 

France breathes a little easier, Scotland seems oblivious, shrugging at England's refusal, England pats him on the shoulder, smirk still in place and France just knows the next world meeting is going to be torture, England won't let this go, it's not as though it's often that France of all people is rendered speechless by other people, Scotland especially. 

It'll keep England amused for at least a decade. 

England is gone in a blink of an eye, shouting a goodbye that her brother gives a grunted reply to and then they are alone again and the burn in his stomach has only grown to encompass his whole body, he moves, trapping Scotland between the washing machine and himself. Scotland raises an eyebrow. 

"You're going to get grease on your clothes," 

"I don't envision us wearing clothes much longer Ecosse" 

Scotland laughs, heart, warm and a little dirty, but the most important thing is that he heartily agrees.


End file.
